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they hate when you are the family disappointment

This was my favorite discovery of this past year.

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That feeling when your favorite character is so not popular that you start to get self conscious about tagging things because yours are the only recent ones showing up...

Whoops.

On Writing & Rarepairs

One of my favorite aspects of writing characters is really trying to get into how their minds might work--and when it comes to pairings, I greatly enjoy making something out of nothing.

Prior to 2023, I wasn't a Star Trek fan. I had seen the newer movies, and as a lifelong sci-fi nerd, they were fun to watch, but I always preferred Stargate and Farscape. I've historically been one to connect with characters who are "different"--Seven, Scorpius, Airiam, Saru--and I was in the midst of a particularly bad mental health spiral when I happened to turn on Star Trek: Picard. Seven of Nine was immediately someone that piqued my interest, not only because she was canonically LGBTQ, but because she was clearly someone that had a backstory. This led me to Voyager, because I wanted to see that backstory.

Shipping Janeway and Seven dragged me out of a 6 year writing hiatus, and I started working on a fanfic, though I never intended to post it, and I never finished it.

In 2024, I started Discovery, and was completely unprepared for how much S2E09 would mess me up. I'm a sucker for a tragic character on a good day. Make it a character we didn't know much about, then add an emotional scene between her and the female lead who barely ever interacted and apparently this is all it takes--that and being a bit grouchy about rare pair voids. For the first time since 2017 I was able to not only write something, but FINISH writing it. And then write and finish five more. More than that, I was actually happy with how they turned out, and how my writing evolved as they went from a one-shot to the longest thing I'd ever written.

Sometimes it seemed strange to Burnham, feeling that Airiam was beautiful. She suspected not everyone did, that they might see Michael as defective or faulty for feeling that way about someone–some thing–like that. She knew from the outside it was easy to forget Airiam had once been human, had once looked just like every other human aboard Discovery, but they only ever saw the augmentations the Commander couldn't hide beneath the trim navy and silver Starfleet uniform. They couldn't see the rest, the places where metal and machine fused into the organic remnants of a woman who had lost far more than just her life.

Brains are weird, and they latch onto weird things. As terrible as I consider Discovery overall, I can't complain about the fact that it was able to bring something back to me I hadn't been able to do in many years. The fact that it has now also translated into letting me write my own original fiction again, and allowed me to get back into the HABIT of writing again, is something I will be forever weirdly grateful for. The last time I finished an original piece was 2007. I'm looking forward to changing that next month <3

Wait what??? If this is true it makes me EVEN MORE ANGRY AHHHHH

I’m still mad they confirmed Regina is bisexual only when the show was over and for nothing. Like they didn’t want Swanqueen we get it but they could have explored Regina/Maleficent relationship in the past, or put Roni with a woman. We all know Lana wouldn’t have say no. Cowards

Seeing this Genii guy pop up in all these DS9 memes is giving me anxiety. I haven't even watched DS9 yet x.x

He's a bad guy to me now and forever.

In Light of Mother's Day

An unfortunate part of aging is learning about how to help your parents as they age, too.

My brother headed back to SC today, and tonight is the first night my mom is spending alone since my dad passed. Tomorrow is both her birthday and Mother's Day, so I just got off the phone with her to find out if she wanted company tomorrow. She is doing okay so far, and has shared that she is inspired to clean up the house and is also "writing about all the bullshit I've learned in the last two weeks."

My mom has always been an excellent writer, although her writing has typically encompassed horses and the Thoroughbred breeding farm she and my dad began operating in 2004. She has consistently used her social media to educate her followers on the realities of breeding and raising racehorses, sharing her joys and her wins, but never shying away from the unpleasantries and truth when things go wrong. I've always admired and wondered how my mom keeps going in spite of the many devastating setbacks they had with the horses over the years.

It seems now she is interested in taking a similar path and plans to help educate others in the processes of handling events following a death. She mentioned finding it cathartic, and I couldn't help but think this must be where my own interest in writing comes from. Just a few days before dad passed, she and I had been having a discussion on the phone about how she needed to write a book, and how she'd been told the same by so many people over the years (including me!) While I wish this could have happened under different circumstances, I am hopeful she will find this helpful as she moves forward, and that she will one day have something published.

That being said--my own writing may be a few days delayed this coming week, as I'm still running back and forth between my house and theirs to visit and as things come up. I'm hoping to get The Measure of Logic's chapter up tomorrow, since it's mostly written now, but I'd like to add a bit more substance before I post it. We shall see! Subversion Theory will probably be updated closer to the end of this week.

I know I don't need to explain this to anyone, and mostly I wanted to share my admiration for my mom this Mother's Day. Value your time with your loved ones--always.

Makes for good writing material though...

The misery of rare characters is being over here trying to fill some of the void but some nights I just want to read someone else's versions but then I remember I'm writing them because so few others are doing it 🫠

Another Snippet from The Farm at Wardenwood Hollow

“Hey,” Taryn called as the door groaned open. The woman looked over her shoulder, her expression back to the familiar one of worry it always wore. Taryn walked up while she climbed into the truck, leaning an arm against the top of the door. She used her chin to gesture at the back seat. “You the only one we got here that buys that powder.”

In the seat, the woman tensed. She didn’t speak right away, and the gaze she fixed on Taryn made her believe she’d just asked something very, very wrong.

“You best be glad ‘bout that,” she told Taryn finally. The way her voice had gone low left her uneasy. “In fact,” she added, face more serious than Taryn had ever seen it, “if you notice anyone else start buyin’ it–you let me know. Y’hear?”

Taryn looked at her strangely and chuckled.

“I ain’t the sort to go ‘round discussin’ people’s purchases with others, Miss,” she said.

“I said you let me know.”

The grin faded from Taryn’s face, and she pushed back off the door frame.

“You’re serious, ain’t you?” she asked, eyeing her.

The woman stared for a couple seconds, then pulled the door shut with a clank. The truck roared to life and she leaned toward the passenger side, rummaging through the glove box for a moment. The window rolled down, and before Taryn realized what was happening, she’d thrust a business card into her hand.

“That’s my phone number,” she explained, eyes flicking to the card and back to Taryn’s. She nodded at it. “It’s a landline. Only way you gon’ reach me. Leave a message if I don’t answer. Keep callin’ and leavin’ ‘em ‘til I call back.”

Taryn’s mouth opened and closed a few times, confused and troubled by the odd exchange. She blinked down at the card. She recognized the name of the farm.

When she looked back up, the woman was still watching her.

“You tol’ me last week you don’t gotta drive far,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She held up the card. “But this is the ol’ Sterling place. That’s thirty miles from here.”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” the woman warned, shaking her head and dropping the truck into gear.

“‘Bout your lyin’, you mean?” Taryn asked with a frown.

“Ain’t important.”

“You lyin’ ‘bout something small like that sure make it seem important.”

“You just worry ‘bout that powder, an’ tellin’ me if it ain’t me buyin’ it.”

Taryn held her gaze, then shrugged and shoved the card into her jacket pocket.

“Fine,” she said, tugging her beanie lower on her head. “I don’t know what you on about, but if I see anyone else buyin’ it, I’ll give you a call.” She pulled a face, wondering if she’d misinterpreted the woman’s nature and questioning if she just might, in fact, be crazy.

“You promise?”

The way she asked it–quieter again, and very worried–gave Taryn pause. Her own face softened at the edges, and she nodded.

“Sure, Miss,” she told her, smiling again. “Yeah. I promise.”

“You keep your promises?”

“Sure do,” Taryn said with a stern nod, almost offended by the implication she wouldn't.

“Good.”

Taryn chuckled again, stepping back.

“You drive safe, now,” she said.

“I will,” the woman replied. Then, with a smirk of her own, “That’s a promise.”

-----

Synopsis:

Taryn Monroe prefers simplicity–her place in the mountains, the predictable rhythm of her job at the mill, and the peace that comes with keeping to herself.

Every Tuesday, a woman shows up at precisely fifteen minutes to close. Taryn doesn’t know much about her–just the rumble of her truck, the way she never wastes words, and the peculiar gallon of sulfur she buys each week.

Then one Tuesday, she doesn’t show up.

Taryn tells herself to leave it alone, that it’s not her business and the woman can handle herself. But when she overhears an argument and starts asking questions, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong–and her life becomes anything but simple.

Something wild is living in the barn at Wardenwood Hollow. Something keeping the woman bound to the old Sterling farm.

And Taryn may be her only chance to break free.